Catch As Cat Can

                Murphy loved spring. Her undercoat would shed out, making her look sleeker and feel lighter. The robins returned, indigo buntings and bluebirds filled the skies. Down by the creek the redwing blackbirds snatched insects, gobbling them in one swallow. The scarlet tanagers flew into the orchards for their forays. The rise in the bird population excited the tiger cat even though she rarely caught one. Both she and Pewter dreamed of killing the blue jay who made their lives miserable. Hateful and aggressive, he would dart at them in a nosedive, scream as he got close, then pull up at the last moment just out of paw's reach. This particular blue jay also made a point of pooping on the clean clothes hung on the line to dry. Harry hated him, too. Harry was Mary Minor's nickname, which often surprised people upon meeting the young, good-looking woman.

                People assumed her nickname derived from her married name nit she had earned it in grade school because her clothes were liberally decorated with cat and dog hair. Her little friends hadn't yet mastered spelling, so hairy became harry. To this day some of her classmates remained on uneasy terms with spelling but rarely with harry.

                Outside the opened window, the cat heard the loud rat-at-tat-tat f woodpeckers. She couldn't remember a spring with so many woodpeckers or so many yellow swallowtail butterflies.

                The giant pileated woodpecker, close to two feet in length, proved a fearsome sight. This bird, found throughout the hickory and oak forests of central Virginia, was a primitive life-form and in repose one could almost see his flying reptile ancestors reflected in his visage. The smaller woodpeckers, though large enough, seemed less fearsome. Mrs. Murphy enjoyed watching woodpeckers circle a reed, stop, peck for insects, then circle again. She noticed that some birds circled up and some circled down and she wondered why. She couldn't get close enough to one to ask because as soon as they'd see her, they'd fly off to another juicy tree.

                As a rule, birds disdained conversation with cats. The mice, moles, and shrews happily chattered away from the safety of their holes."Chattered" being a polite term, because they'd taunt the cats. The barn mice even sang, because their high-pitched voices prove Mrs. Murphy crazy.

                The tiger glanced over at the dock. Harry, usually up at five-thirty, had overslept. Fortunately, today was Saturday, so she wouldn't have to rush in to work at the post office in Crozet. A part-time worker took care of Saturday's mail. But Harry, an organized soul, hated to waste daylight. Murphy knew she'd fret when she awoke and discovered how late it was.

                Pewter opened one chartreuse eye."I'm hungry."

                "There are crunchies in the bowl."

                "Tuna." The fat gray cat opened the other eye, slightly lifting her pretty round head.

                "I wouldn't mind some myself. Let's woke up our con opener." Murphy laughed.

                Pewter stretched, then gleefully sat, her back to Harry's face. She gently swept her tail over the woman's nose.

                Mrs. Murphy walked up and down Harry's back. When that didn't produce the desired effect she jumped up and down.

                "Uh." Harry sneezed as she pushed the tail out of her face."Pewter."

                "I'm hungry."

                "Me, too," Murphy sang out.

                The dog, awake now, yawned."Chunky beef."

                "You guys." Harry sat up as Murphy stepped off her back."Oh, my gosh, it's six-forty. Why did you let me sleep so late?" She threw off the covers. Her bare feet hit the hooked rug and she sprinted to the bathroom.

                "I'm standing vigil at the food bowl." Pewter zipped to the kitchen.

                Murphy, in line behind her, jumped onto the kitchen counter.

                Tucker, much more obedient, accompanied Harry to the bathroom, looked quizzically while she brushed her teeth, then quietly followed the human into the kitchen, where she put a pot of water on the stove for tea.

                "All right, what is it?"

                "Tuna!" came the chorus.

                "M-m-m, chicken and rice." She put that can back on the shelf.

                "Tuna!"

                "Liver." She hesitated.

                "Tuna!"

                "Tuna," Tucker chimed in."If you don't feed them tuna they'll make a mess and it will take me that much longer to get my breakfast," she grumbled.

                Harry reached into the cupboard, lifting out another can, "Tuna."

                "Hooray." Pewter turned little tight circles.

                "Okay, okay." Harry laughed and opened the can with the same land opener her mother had used. The Hepworths, Harry's mother's family, thought fashion absurd. Buy something of good quality and use it until it dies. The can opener was older than Harry.

                The Minors, her father's family, also practical people, proved a bit more willing to let loose of money than the Hepworths. Harry fell somewhere in the middle.

                After feeding the cats and dog, she turned on the stove, pulled nit an iron skillet, and fried up two eggs. Breakfast was her favorite meal.